Pressure
by HDUC
Summary: When farm equipment goes haywire and forces the Doctor into a precarious position, Martha has only one course of action.  And they both like it a little too much!  A smutty oneshot!


**I'm always looking for excuses to get smutty - why not let it be on par with the normal course of life in the Doctor's world? ;-) **

**If you've ever read my story "Overload," this might feel familiar. Foreign planet, a problem with technology, smuttiness is necessary. Business as usual, right? Enjoy!**

* * *

><p><span>PRESSURE<span>

Distress calls – they were Martha's favourites. They were always intense, hit-the-ground-running adventures in which the Doctor shouted and paced a lot, and she could feel indispensible. The crazy, frenetic days were the times when she was at his right hand, and of course, she loved being anywhere near him. She'd do anything for him, and he knew it. The paradox was that the more indispensible and reliable she became, the less he noticed her. She waited eagerly for the day when she could do something so spectacular for him, he wouldn't be able to help but stand up and take note...

But such was her lot in Martha Jones' life with the Doctor.

They could hear the sirens blaring as soon as the TARDIS stopped. They ran down the ramp together and burst through the doors of the blue box, and were greeted by about fifty humanoid beings, all different colours and sizes (seriously, all different colours – some of them were purple, orange and green), all looking incredibly worried. The Doctor aimed the sonic screwdriver at something, and the alarm quieted.

They were in a tall room, mostly of an off-white colour, with ten circular tiers that stretched up toward a bright blue dome. The tiers were balconies, and the balconies were adorned with official-looking desks and lamps. But no-one was manning those desks. They were all gathered round the TARDIS, in various states of panic.

"Doctor?" one of them asked. He had bright yellow, glossy skin and a row of green lines across his forehead. Martha couldn't discern whether they were decorative, or part of his complexion. "Are you the Doctor?"

"That's me," the Doctor answered, looking around with his eyes narrowed. "What the hell is happening?"

"It's an honour to meet you, sir, thank you so much for coming."

"Yeah, that's enough with the _sir._ Tell me what's going on," the Doctor demanded curtly.

"We are the Seventh Planetary Assembly of the Castelooper Galaxy," replied the yellow guy. "I'm the Assembly Leader, my name is Bob."

"Bob?" asked the Doctor, making sure he'd heard correctly.

"Yes, Bob."

"Okay. If you say so. This is my friend, Martha."

"Hi, Martha."

She waved uneasily.

"Doctor, our assembly was just in the midst of approving a new device, the OrgoInflator 6000," Bob explained, gesturing toward an innocuous-looking apparatus in the middle of the room. To Martha, it resembled some old plumbing sticking out of the floor, except that there seemed to be a laser beam on one protruding end. "And the thing went haywire!"

The Doctor approached it. Amid warnings of _be careful _and _it's still activated, _he examined it, took off the lens, played with the controls a bit, then asked, "Your Agricultural Commission endorsed this, didn't it?"

"Yes, sir," Bob said, nodding. "We're in our eighth Planetary Rotation of abysmal harvests."

"So someone worked out a way to reconstitute dried-up crops," the Doctor said, smiling and hopping down from the platform. "It's brilliant. Well, mostly."

Bob nodded again. "It replicates the organic material within the fruits and vegetables and reinflates them, as it were. It doesn't grow new crops, but it does help us to stretch the lifespan of crops we already have. That way, nothing goes to waste."

"Nice," said Martha. "Very clever."

"Well, we tried every strategy we could think of for growing. It was time to start exploring other options. This won't solve all our problems, but it's a start."

The Doctor was shining the sonic screwdriver into the eyes of one of the humanoids standing nearby, seemingly a female, with bright pink skin. "Except now you have a problem," he said.

"Yes. It has a short circuit or something, and now we can't control it. It went mad a few minutes ago and shot a bunch of us," Bob told him.

"I see that," said the Doctor, examining the jowls of the female. "How does your head feel, love?" he asked her.

"Not so good," she responded. "Feels like it's going to explode."

The Doctor nodded sympathetically. "The device was faulty. It was meant just to inflate organic matter and then stop, but somehow it was calibrated to continue replicating. Bob, your OrgoInflator 6000 replicated her brain cells and skull, and now her head is pressurised, and it's growing. If we're not careful, it actually _will_ explode. Tell your agriculture guys to go back to the drawing board and modify the replicating application on this thing."

There was a din created by the Doctor's statement. He was obliged to stand on a chair and silence everyone.

"First thing we do, get that thing out of here," the Doctor said, pointing dead at the OrgoInflator 6000. "Can't risk it firing at anyone else. I could fix it so it doesn't go off again - I'll do it after everyone is safe. Anyone who's not been shot, pick it up and get it out of the room as quickly as you can."

Another female stepped forward with her turquoise skin and organised a small squad of the uninjured to lift up the platform and move it.

"Next," he shouted. "Anyone shot in the head, you're first priority. Come forward, please."

A number of individuals clutching their heads, and others helping them to walk, gathered round the Doctor. He hopped off the chair and pulled Martha close. "We're going to need to relieve pressure in whatever way we can. Go into the TARDIS, find the medical supply cupboard and bring me the neural drill. And maybe some anasthetic. Try to be as discreet as you can – we don't want to cause a panic."

"Gotcha."

"And when you're done with that, gather the next most seriously injured, and prioritise them for me. Start working out ways to relieve pressure, gather tools. Then you can help me, starting from the top," he told her. He wrinkled his nose. "It's not going to be pretty, Martha."

"I know. That's why I'm here."

He smiled at her and patted her on the back. She disappeared into the TARDIS.

Martha ran down the halls of the TARDIS and into the medical supply cupboard. The thing was huge, but she'd been in there several times before, and basically knew her way round. She gathered up the drill, a bone saw, some bandages, as much anasthetic as she could find, including syringes and IV bags. She pulled some alcohol for the wounds, drugs to help slow bleeding, just in case... then realised she didn't have enough arms to carry it all.

She dashed down the hall one more time to the kitchen. She found the caterer's trolley that she and the Doctor used sometimes when they fancied a meal in the media room or in the game room while playing billiards or something. She removed everything from the top part of the trolley, and ran with it back to the medical supply cupboard. She loaded it up, and ran back to the console room and stuck her head out the door to tell the Doctor she was ready.

The Doctor escorted the pink-faced lady into the console room and checked her head with the sonic, just to be sure what he thought was happening really _was_ happening. He administered an anasthetic, and sat with her while she drifted off. Martha did the same a few minutes later with a second patient, ailing in the same way.

As soon as possible, the Doctor used a neural drill to drive a hole in her skull, which then allowed some fluid seepage. Some excess replicated brain and bone matter oozed from the wound. They took her vitals after that; she was fine, and her head was back to normal. They did the same thing to the second afflicted, then released both patients into the care of the native medical team that had turned up in the Assembly room while the Doctor and Martha had been working.

Two more patients were escorted in. One had the same ailment as the first two, so he was given an anasthetic in preparation for a drilling. But the other, the Doctor could see from a sonic scan, had been shot in the nose, and had only inflated sinuses. No brain matter to deal with, but that wasn't necessarily a good thing.

He took Martha aside. "The regular drill won't work," he whispered. "We'll have to drill into his face, which will cause other things to rupture. Fluid might go down his throat or into the aesophagus – we don't have time to deal with all of that. There are like thirty-five people injured out there, and only two of us!"

"We could recruit some of the medical team outside," she offered.

"Good idea," he said.

As he was making her way to the door, Martha cast her eyes over the kitchen trolley. An idea occurred to her. "Wait, Doctor."

He turned. She took a shaker of pepper from the second tier of the trolley. She approached the sinus patient and unscrewed the top of the shaker, holding the pepper to his nose. She told him to inhale.

When he did, Martha stood back, and the patient sneezed.

"How do you feel?" asked Martha.

He shook off the euphoria that comes after a sneeze, and said, "Better. Much better, actually." With that, he passed out, and began to sieze.

The Doctor and Martha held him down until he stopped shaking, then examined him again with the sonic. The Doctor declared that the pressure had now been released, and the sinuses were no longer inflated. He had simply fainted as a by-product of so much pressure being lost, and the seizure had proven that the laser reacted with body chemistry to create a toxin. He congratulated Martha on an ingenious discovery, and let out a cry of delight, "Ha!" Then he sent her back to the medical supply cupboard for smelling salts and a drug that would expel the toxin in this patient, and all the other patients who suffered from it.

"Why didn't the other patients sieze?" she asked.

"My guess? Bone blocks the toxin. I've seen calcium act as thins kind of a blocker before. If the laser has to go through skull to get to the squishy stuff, then the calcium won't let the laser react with the brain matter."

"Ah. So this guy must have been shot..."

"Right in the cartilege!"

"Ouch."

* * *

><p>A few other sinus patients were treated in the same way, and sent home. In addition, they were able to relieve some, though not all, pulmonary inflations with coughing, and some intestinal inflations with vomiting. All of them passed out right afterward, and went into seizure, but the Doctor and Martha were prepared for it. Biological processes were their friends in these cases, though a few of the cases were fairly grotesque and could not be treated that way.<p>

Once all the patients had been seen by the Doctor or Martha, and had been "cured" to their satisfaction, the Doctor said, "Now, let's see about that bloody laser."

The two of them went through the door where they'd seen the OrgoInflator 6000 carried out. It was sitting just outside the door of the Assembly room, in a small but stately marble rotunda.

"Hello, hello," the Doctor muttered to it.

With that, almost like a response, the device began shooting beams all over the place, spinning like a top, inflating anything organic in its path. Fortunately, the only living thing it hit was a fern. The Doctor reached out with the sonic screwdriver, which buzzed and stopped the machinery.

"Here, hold this," he told Martha, handing it to her.

He approached the laser, and pulled off one of the panels and began tinkering with the insides. He called it "stubborn," and cursed at it.

And again, almost in response, the machine went mad. This time the Doctor was hit, and he doubled over, yelling inarticulately.

Martha knew that the sonic had been set to stop it, so she aimed at it one more time and pressed the button. The OrgoInflator died down.

"Maybe you shouldn't speak to it," Martha suggested, as she approached the Doctor, who was still doubled over. "Where are you hit?" she asked.

"Just help me back to the TARDIS," he said, panting, unable to stand up.

She gulped and tucked herself under his left arm and helped him limp back into the Assembly room. When they entered, there was a collective gasp from the Assembly members, followed by a hush.

"It's all right, he's going to be fine," Martha assured them. "We'll just treat him like all of the others. Don't worry."

They went into the TARDIS, and the Doctor said, "Lock the door."

"Why?"

"Just do it."

She obeyed, then helped him over to the black leather seat on the other side of the console. He sat down, then he sat up straight and leaned back, sighing heavily. When he did, she saw where he'd been hit. And also why he'd wanted her to lock the door.

"Oh, Doctor," she said, her hands covering her nose and mouth. "Oh, God!"

His pin-striped trousers were misshapen in the front. A serious bulge was protruding behind it, and Martha knew, it would only get larger and eventually burst, if they didn't relieve the pressure.

"Martha..." he sighed. "I'm sorry. I think it's pretty obvious how to treat this problem. But I'm going to pass out and sieze when it's over because there was no bone in the way."

She nodded, gulping, trying desperately to keep her eyes on his face and not his crotch.

"I guess you'll have to..." he gulped as well, his eyes huge and wide. "Stay here while I..."

She took a step forward and pressed her hand to his lapel. "Doctor, I think it might actually be _less_ awkward if you just..."

"What?" he asked.

"Let me."

"I can't ask you to do that."

"You didn't ask. And I don't mind," she said truthfully, beginning to tremble. "You'd do it for me, wouldn't you?"

"Yes," he responded, with a little smile. "Of course."

"Well then," she said, pushing him back against the leather chair. "Relax. Let me treat you."

He stared at her wide-eyed for a few seconds, then he began to nod. "Okay, okay," he said. "You're right. You're..."

He leaned back and shut his eyes.

Martha martialed her nervousness and ran her hand down his chest, and pressed it against the bulge. He inhaled sharply and his eyes flew open. Their eyes met, and suddenly, all the awkwardness went away. She moved her hand up and down, stroking him through his trousers, never missing his eyes. His breathing grew laboured.

"I'm on a schedule, Martha," he whispered to her. "But God, I wish I weren't."

"Right," she whispered back.

She reached down with both hands and manoeuvred his trousers open. She snaked two fingers tentatively inside, to find the offending organ. She worked it out into the open and lost her breath for a moment. It was inflated, certainly, but did not look abnormally so. It was pink-tipped, urgent and hard. It gave her a chill, a frisson of lust.

She had thought about this many, many times, of course. She had a mental catalogue of scenarios for moments of intimacy with the Doctor. She had, though, imagined this happening under different circumstances; in a bedroom with the lights low, the glow of love in his eyes, and all the time in the world. She had imagined tending to him leisurely, coaxing a slow and painfully pleasurable release with her fingers and mouth and any part she could think of, any part of her that he wanted. She had never thought she'd have to answer _his_ distress call and get him off as quickly as possible, just to keep him from losing limb, if not life.

Still, she reckoned it might be the only chance she'd ever have, so she'd do it quickly, but do it right.

She did not break eye-contact as she stroked, and his breath grew shorter and shorter. She couldn't help herself; she whispered his name, and this caused him to close his eyes briefly and moan a little. He'd liked hearing her say "Doctor," with a little bit of love and lust in her voice. She felt encouraged and brave, and intoxicated to have this power over him. She gripped a little tighter, and saw his Adam's Apple bob with the strain.

Inspired and emboldened, she smirked, then slipped to her knees. She never let go of him – she couldn't. She knew that he was too far gone to change his mind, but she was afraid that if she went for one moment without touching him, feeling him hard and sliding between her fingers, she might forget later on what it felt like. She explored his distended flesh with both hands for a few seconds, all ten fingers, and then her tongue.

This little action took his breath away, and he inhaled sharply as sanity left him for a moment. For her part, it filled her with lust, the desire to go further, hear more shallow breaths taken from him and make his world go fuzzy. So she planted her hand firmly at the base and took as much of him into her mouth as she could, still reminding herself that she only had a few minutes of this, just a short time to feel all she was going to feel, before going back to...

And then she pulled back tightly, hearing the corresponding hiss through his teeth. She did not let him slip from her mouth, she didn't dare. She swirled her tongue around the head, just before sliding it all the way back in again. He groaned in earnest and swore.

"I think I've gone blind," he muttered, strained.

Unable to speak, she simply responded cheekily with, "Mm-hm," as though that was her intent all along. She sighed with contentment as she began moving her lips back and forth, sensing his whole body tightening. She found a rhythm that seemed to cause a steady change in him, a good, solid coiling-up at regular intervals and the increasing frequency of expletives hissed out from between teeth.

The mouth was hot, and the woman was clever and determined. This was a positively debilitating combination. And from the feel of it, she was experienced as well. He chose not to think about that. He also tried not to think of the urgency of the matter, and tried to give the moment its due. He looked down at her and savoured the sight of her lovely full lips enveloping him, coupled with her breathless sigh. Over and over her mouth closed over his distended member, and he could feel, all too soon, the moment rising. It's the objective – it's always the objective, but more so today than ever. It's what they both wanted and needed, but God, he wished they had more time to do this properly. And something in the way she'd said his name, sighed the word _Doctor _from someplace deep inside a few minutes ago, made him believe that she'd like that too. To hear his name spoken with such desire and promise within, thinking someone wanted him, thinking he had a chance to have a life like... well, blimey everything she was doing was driving him over the edge. The whole scenario was brilliant and frustrating and perfect and potentially explosive.

And this relatively impersonal action in the console room was fun, but what if this was their only chance? What if this quick-and-dirty affair hung over their heads for the rest of their time together? They'd always wonder what the other is like when the clock isn't ticking, when the craving isn't a matter of life and death. The Doctor is a patient man in the bedroom, and normally would _never _leave something like this unreciprocated, and he'd rather have her know that. And she'd never know it at this rate. A pulse of extra power surged through him and he moaned, as he found himself on the egde. A few more strokes and he'd be ready to blow, and it would be all over. She was good.

And she knew it. She knew she was pulling him forward at an expert pace. She loved it, the power, the taste of him, the closeness. She loved opening her eyes and looking up, and seeing miles of pinstriped suit stretched up before her, apexed at a face she loved, caught in the throes of passion, increasingly tight and trying to hold back, but knowing he had to let go. If the situation were different, she'd have said, "Stop resisting, Doctor – just come. Just give me your all..." She'd have said it in low tones, whispered the words into his ear in a way that would guarantee he wouldn't be able to stave off the craving anymore. But today, she willed it. She said the words in her head, "Come for me... it's okay,it's what I want... it's what we both want..." She drilled holes into his eyes with her own, tried to convey love and desire...

...and he received the message. Those inky black pools held her soul, and the look was unmistakable. He couldn't deny her. With a great groan, and no warning, he grabbed onto her arms, now draped across his legs, and released like a geyser into her mouth. He would have liked to tell her the time was approaching – it would have been the polite thing to do. But he was beyond speech, and certainly beyond polite. His fingers dug into her flesh, and much as he realised it must be hurting her a little, he couldn't stop until his body was purged, the pressure was relieved.

The force of this climax was something neither had experienced before – and not just because they were new to each other. He saw a black spot literally cross over his vision while his body was in spasm. She felt bruises forming on her arms and felt a pulsing, spasm and flow between her lips that told her he had been wound up like a magnetic thread. He _shot _into her mouth and held onto her like if he let go, they'd both float away into space. They both knew it hadn't been an everyday orgasm, and not jut because Martha was the one to give it to him. It was literally saving him from bursting...

...but these few moments together had had the opposite effect on Martha. It had given him release, and only succeded in mounting her desires. She'd always wanted him, but as warm salty liquid slid down her throat, she knew that now her appetite was whetted; she wanted him _again,_ and that was way worse! She had a taste for him now, not to mention an insistent throbbing between her legs that, one way or another, would not be ignored.

But as she pulled away, he passed out. She'd known it would happen – it's why she'd had to stay in the room with him, and it snapped her, if only superficially, back to reality for a few moments. He slumped to the side in the chair, then began to seize. She made sure his tongue was clear of being bitten, and held him down as best she could while he shook. In ten seconds it was over. She took some smelling salts from the kitchen cart, still aware that she was panting. She took a moment to tuck him back into his trousers, then brought him round. His eyes opened reluctantly and he said something inarticulate as he became aware of what was happening.

"You all right?" she asked, stepping back, giving him room to breathe and move.

"Yeah," he said.

"Your head?"

"Fine."

"Everything else?"

He looked down as she turned to get the antidote to the toxin. Everything on his person seemed to be back to its rightful shape and size.

"Fine," he said.

She gave him two pills and some water. "The body has some very handy ways of coping with pressure, doesn't it?"

"Thank heaven," he said, handing the water back to her. "And... thank _you_."

She almost said, "No, thank _you_," but thought better of it. Instead she answered, "Meh, you could have done it yourself. It's no big deal."

He smiled weakly. "I could have. But I do like to be alone for that sort of thing. And that would have been a little bit dangerous, so thanks for being there for me."

"No problem," she said, blushing.

"You're going to make an amazing doctor."

Her eyebrows rose, and her jaw dropped. "Wha... Doctor!"

"No, no, sorry. I just mean... before, when we were helping the others. You were brilliant."

"Thanks."

There was a pause. "You're brilliant at a lot of things, as it turns out. Most of it has nothing to do with doctoring."

She blushed again. He smirked at this, then headed for the door. He stepped outside, where Bob and the other very concerned members of the Seventh Planetary Assembly of the Castelooper Galaxy were waiting with bated breath to see if the Doctor would be all right.

"Crisis averted," he said to them. Then he went and shorted out the OrgoInflator with one touch from the sonic.

To the room, upon departure, he said, "Everyone, go back to your jobs, and don't let that contraption back into polite company until you have it fixed." He tossed the anti-toxin medication at Bob and told him how to use it, just in case it happened again while the laser was being moved or repaired, and briefed them one more time on how to treat the wounded.

When he came back inside, Martha was treading round the console like a caged cat. For so many reasons, she did not want to be here just now. She felt deflated, and could sense a growing depression rising in her, indicating that old rejection, or anticipation thereof, made all the more acute by having felt so _accepted _for just a few minutes.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Erm, do you need me for anything at the moment?" she wanted to know.

"I guess not. Why?" he asked, flipping a toggle and jostling the TARDIS to somewhere new.

"I think I need to be alone for a while. I'm just going to..." she said, indicating the hallway, the direction of her bedroom.

"Okay," he said, quietly, kicking himself even as the word came out.

She shuffled off out of sight.

* * *

><p>She fell on the bed in her room and tried to will the bile down, and also the lust that this whole episode had awakened. It was weird feeling depressed and aroused at the same time... what was she going to do about that?<p>

After perhaps five minutes of meditation, she heard a knock.

"Yes?"

"Can I come in?" he asked.

"I suppose," she answered.

He opened the door and strode in. She sat up. "I don't want to disturb you."

"You're not disturbing me."

"I just thought that... the crisis has been averted, we're in a time machine, which means we have all the time in the world now."

"Yeah?"

He walked toward her. "No deadlines, no place we have to be, no work to do, unless we want to."

"Yeah?"

He sat down on the bed. "And in light of this afternoon's events, there are some things that I want you to know about me."

"Like what?"

"We deal in urgent situations all the time, Martha, trying to beat the clock like we did today."

"Yes."

"But in reality, I'm a very patient man."

"Really?"

"Oh yes."

"I see." And she did see what he meant, but she could hardly believe her ears.

"And sometimes you see me accept help, and I say thanks, but I know that words are cheap. Actions speak much louder. Sometimes it must seem to you like I don't understand that friendship – well, all relationships – require reciprocation."

"It does, yes."

"But I know that they do. And I do try to live by that, even if I don't always succeed."

"Good."

"And today your actions indicated something to me. I have realised that you've been trying to tell me something for months, and I haven't been listening."

"Oh. Oh, boy."

"But today, I'm listening."

"You are?"

"Of course. How could I not?" he asked, smiling.

"Doctor..."

"That came out wrong. It's not just... _what you did_, and did so well, that makes me want to listen. It's like today, someone cleaned the wax out of my ears. I want to hear everything you have to say. Do you understand that?"

"I think so," she gulped.

"And I'd like the opportunity to prove all of these things to you."

"You would?"

"Yes," he said.

"Right now?"

"Whenever you'd like. I want to do it right, so I won't push."

She thought about this for a few minutes. How did she want to proceed? If she was hearing this right, all she had to do was _tell him_ when to open the floodgates, and he would be hers. He wanted to prove himself to her, take his time, do it right. What was she supposed to do, wait for a day when she couldn't stand it anymore, then say, "Take me, please?" And it brought up another problem.

"Doctor, when you do... _prove yourself_ to me," she said quietly, trying very hard to hold his eye. "I'm going to want to, you know... _prove myself_ right back to you. And then you'll want to again, and then... you see?"

"I know."

"I don't think this is something that you can prove in one shot."

"That's the idea," he said, and he smiled at her.

"And I'd need you to prove yourself when you're vertical, as well. During the day, with your clothes on."

"Yep. I can do that."

"And all I have to do is tell you when?"

"Yes. It's all up to you."

"Okay," she sighed. "Sometime in the next month, surprise me in my sleep."

"Surprise you in your sleep?"

"Yes. Sneak in here, crawl into bed, don't say a word. Just... let me see you for all your worth."

He liked this idea. "All right," he smiled. "I will do that."

"Surprise me on a night when the day's been really tough."

"Okay. And after that?" he asked.

"After that, you can surprise me any time you like. Or I'll surprise you."

"You've already done that, Miss Jones," he said, letting out a pent-up burst of air.

"Oh, I've got more. Just wait."

He smiled and stood up, sure that he couldn't. He left the room and let her sleep, or whatever she was planning on doing in there.

He returned to the console room and scanned the universe for signs of something really tough that he could drag her through, someday soon.


End file.
